


the ghost of Christmas past

by orphan_account



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-04
Updated: 2008-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric drowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ghost of Christmas past

Serena was drunk again and Eric could smell the hard, cutting odour of alcohol coming off of her in waves; her jacket was heavy in his hands, stinking of cigarettes and sex. He hated this part, the disoriented look in her eyes, the giggles and laughter as she groped for something to lean on.

She'd hurt him before like this, leaving bruises over his arms and once a long scratch down his underarm that stayed a red welt for days afterwards. He knew she'd wake up in the morning and not remember, or barely, that someone helped her into her bed. A look at the clock told him it was late – or early, just getting close to 4am. He knew he should have been in bed long ago, but he never slept when she was on the prowl.

His mom had been asking about the bruise-like bags under his eyes, and he couldn't answer. He couldn't talk, he didn't know how to open his mouth about this, because there were no words, and he hated, he hated so much that Serena put him in this position, where saying something meant betraying her, but not saying anything meant watching her become this horrible and self-destructive being.

"Eric, you're such a good brother," she breathed when he took off the dress, down her shoulders and sliding it off her hips, her shoes long discarded. She reeked, in need of a shower, but it would have to wait till she'd slept it off, as always.

He stayed silent, just watched as she closed her eyes and fell into deep sleep almost immediately. He wished he could do that as well. His arms and legs felt so heavy, like lead tugging at his body. He was so exhausted, it was killing him on the inside, and watching her made it worse, watching his mom do nothing, glazed-over eyes as she wallowed in self-pity.

Sometimes, he wanted to shake her out of it, tell her that she wasn't the only one who'd lost someone with the divorce; he'd actually liked his stepdad this time, they'd actually had some things in common, able to talk about the complete disaster that were historical movies produced in Hollywood and the win that was seventies rock in comparison to the newest shit that only called itself rock. He didn't mind so much anymore that he never saw his real dad, but he hated that she'd taken this away from him as well.

He didn't say anything though, because he wasn't the adult in this family, he shouldn't have to be responsible for Serena or his mother's inability to look at either of them, out of whatever notion of guilt she might be having.

 

~*~

 

Christmas was horrible. Serena got drunk on the champagne, but at least she stayed home for it, so he didn't have to pick her up at the elevator, off the hands of an annoyed concierge. Eric only left his room for dinner and presents and returned to sit in the dark and stare at his ceiling listening to her hushed voice talking on the phone with what was probably Blair. He couldn't understand the words, the walls weren't thin enough for that, but he knew the tone, that excited, breathless voice she had when talking about boys.

Eric bit his lip and forced himself not to think of the fact that he had no friends to speak of, least of all some with whom he could have talked about boys. He forced himself not to think of the fact that it was mostly her fault for being his sister and leaving him with a reputation that was none of his making.

 

~*~

 

He wasn't allowed to go to the Sheppard wedding. It didn't matter much to him, but he gave Serena a long look when she dressed in a skimpy yellow dress that fit the occasion more than the season.

"Boxing Day weddings are so JKR," Serena muttered as they made their way to the door.

"Put on a jacket, it's cold outside," Lily reminded her in that distant voice that she'd adopted lately that had yet in any way or form to penetrate the walls around Serena's mind.

"Please, don't stay out too late?" Eric asked her as Serena slid into her high heels, as easily, he imagined, as she got under most boys' skin.

"Don't worry, baby," she said, still distant, and petted his cheek before grabbing her purse and hurrying downstairs.

"Don't tear the roof off while we're gone," Serena laughed and air-kissed his cheek before going off as well, leaving Eric to close the door behind them.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had been waiting for months now, since Serena had started acting out, and he realized it had been more than year now. He hadn't slept properly in more than year. He curled up on the couch and watched sappy romantic comedies and then a war tragedy that reduced him to tears.

It was one excuse to cry, at least.

 

~*~

 

He had thought that with Serena gone, he would finally be able to close his eyes and see nothing again, instead of her beautiful face streaked with tears, eyes wide with horror. He didn't know what had happened that night, didn't know what had happened to her or with her, he only knew that Lily'd come home at a reasonable hour, without Serena, and apparently not caring either.

He had watched her, from the window facing the street before which he often spent hours, especially at night - saw her get out of the taxi, hair in disarray and completely distraught, like he'd never seen her before. And then he'd heard them - his mom and his sister - yell at each other, tear each other apart in the living room while clutching his pillow to his chest; and he'd never, ever before wished so much for a dad, or not even that, just someone, anyone to talk to.

A few days before school was supposed to start up again, Serena came to his room with the news.

"I'm sorry," she said, tip-toeing carefully towards his bed almost like she was expecting him to throw her out.

"What for?" Eric closed his laptop and put it aside to make space for her. Always made space for her, everywhere, because she was his sister, and he loved her, no matter what. And there had been a time, before all this, when they'd been able to talk. When she'd listened instead of vanishing to drink herself sick and fuck whatever moved. He wanted her back, so badly.

"I've been a horrible sister to you," she admitted. She sat down on the edge, and her bare feet looked small on the wide expanse of his carpeted floor. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

"It doesn't –"

"I'm leaving."

Eric blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"I'm leaving, tomorrow, for Conneticut. I'm packed and everything, I've got a spot at a boarding school and they'll be expecting me to start school first thing. It's the best for everyone."

Eric didn't ask who everyone was. He knew Serena. In Serena's world, Serena was everyone. Other people were cardboard cut-outs, bleak and fading, turning grey around the edges.

"I'm so sorry for what you've had to deal with those past few months. I want to – I need to deal with some things. I need to get away from everyone."

There were tears in her eyes, and his own, but he blinked them away and lowered his chin towards his collarbone so his bangs would hide his expression. "Okay," he said, softly. He hadn't said more than two words in a row for weeks now. Nobody seemed to expect him to.

"I'll miss you so much, though," Serena added, and Eric wondered why she had to start every sentence with 'I'. And then he stopped wondering because she was Serena.

He picked his laptop up again, not looking at her, and something inside him broke when she touched his shoulder and ruffled his hair, and nothing more. She got up and went towards the door and he opened his mouth to say something, ask her what had happened, why she was leaving, why she couldn't see that he needed someone right now, that he needed her to be there for him for a change.

But his voice wouldn't come and she closed the door behind herself with a soft click.

 

~*~

 

Eric had seen Chuck Bass around, of course. Everyone had. He'd seen Serena with him – well. Not with him, but Serena was always with Blair and Nate was Blair's boyfriend and Chuck was Nate's best friend and they were a group. They hung out. Occasionally, they had been at the apartment, and he'd smelled smoke coming out of her room, hearing whoops of caution and excitement and laughter.

There had been once, he remembered, during summer the year before, when he'd left his room late at night to get a glass of milk from the kitchen and Chuck'd been on his way to the bathroom at the time Eric carried it back to his room. He'd stunk of cigarettes and the scent that, he was soon to learn, was burned joints; alcohol had oozed from every motion of his body.

He'd hated the way Chuck's gaze swept his figure, the way his eyes lingered on Eric's face, his pyjamas, the glass. "Bit late for you to still be up, isn't it?" he'd asked, derision dropping from every word. "How old are you? Ten? Eleven?"

Eric hadn't taken the bait. He'd stared back until Chuck'd dropped his gaze and moved past, towards the bathroom.

He hadn't expected Chuck to remember his face, much less accost him on his way to school. But Chuck did both, and that was the moment Eric learned never to underestimate him. There was a reason people were cautious of him. Eric realized in that moment that he knew almost nobody who was such a good observer, who had eye for details quite like Chuck. It was, he deduced, why it was so easy for Chuck to reduce people to barely the size of their destroyed egos. He knew things about them sometimes they didn't even know yet themselves.

"You look like a shadow," he commented idly as he pushed Eric into a side-alley away from the main street and against the wall there, leaving the hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. "Don't be scared, I'm not here to hurt you."

Eric looked up at him, not dropping his eyes to the ground like his whole body screamed at him to do. He held the gaze. It was a first victory.

"Not scared, then." Chuck gave a half-smile. "Bit foolish, if you ask me."

"I'm not asking you," Eric commented. "But I'm assuming you have a question for me."

"That is certainly the case," Chuck said. "You see, we've been missing a member of our little circle of friends for a while now and I was wondering what you knew about that, exactly."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really."

Eric didn't repeat himself.

"Look, you can tell me what happened with Serena. Why's she at boarding school? More importantly, when is she giving up this little game and coming back?"

"I can safely and without a hint of a lie reply to both those questions that I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"Because she didn't tell me." Eric tried to shake off Chuck's hand, who didn't budge. "I need to get to school, please."

"You know nothing at all?" Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"No, probably not." Finally, Chuck let him go. He took a step back and tilted his head to the side. "You should take better care of yourself, you know. You really do look like you're about to keel over and die."

Eric re-shouldered his bag and passed him, walking away. He hadn't looked in a mirror for days. He had no idea what he looked like. And it wasn't, he reminded himself just in time, like anyone cared. Least of all Chuck Bass.

 

~*~

 

The thing about fighting a battle you can't win is that when you're at the point when you just can't anymore, when it's just impossible to go on, the feeling of giving up is the worst yet of the whole process, worse than the exhaustion and the pain and the never-ending dejection inside. Worse than not sleeping for a week before catching an hour and waking up groggy and disoriented and like a horde of elephants have just used your head for a dance floor.

 

~*~

 

Giving up, to Eric, felt like that, except even worse because when he finally broke down completely, his mom was out on some society ball in her fancy dress, and the hotel suite felt bigger and emptier than ever, huge and untouchable. And yet, the walls were closing in. He felt like his insides were rotting, moulding into a slow death. He just wanted to make it all go away. He just wanted to quicken the decay, kill it so it would stop hurting.

His stomach ached, which hadn't happened anymore since he'd stopped eating a few months ago, and only sporadically ingested a few somethings to keep up a minimum level of energy. His wrists felt hard and brittle in his hands, like there was barely anything there except for the bones.

There was the bathtub. It was a good spot. He had not nearly enough courage to cut the artery by his throat; he didn't know how much it'd hurt, but he guessed anything might be better than the pain of being alone. He hadn't said more than a few sentences since school had let out; there was the vague fantasy of life getting a bit better at high school, of finding some friends there, maybe, who didn't only know him as Serena Van der Woodsen's freak brother who hardly spoke and was anti-social to the point of reclusion. But he didn't have any illusions. He knew where his mom was planning on sending him, and there was nobody there he wanted to befriend, he knew that much already.

He didn't need friends who were backstabbing, conniving manipulators he couldn't share secrets with out of fear they'd use them against him the moment he turned his back. He didn't need friends who only talked about themselves, every single one of them the center of their very own universe.

After a few minutes, his head began to swim. It hurt more than he'd expected. He hadn't thought the skin on his wrists would be that delicate and riddled with tiny nerve endings. He figured he should have read up on that. The blood looked good against the backdrop of white tiles.

Then a lightness hit him he'd never experienced before, like all the weight had been suddenly lifted from him and there was no longer grey and dark and loneliness around him; there was images and fantasies and he could just dream, and that was nice for a change. It felt like he hadn't had a dream that was nice in years. He thought he probably hadn't. A bit hard, to dream nice dreams when there was no sleep to be had and naps brought nightmares of haunted cherry fields.

He never found out what happened after he'd lost consciousness. He just knew when he woke up that something hadn't worked quite like it should have when a doctor was leaning over him, shining a light in his eyes and someone beside him was squeezing his hand like there was no tomorrow.

 

~*~

_~~ written September 2008_


End file.
